


An Unwelcome Wake-up Call

by fedzgurl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, early morning cuddles, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedzgurl/pseuds/fedzgurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A much needed weekend lie-in is interrupted in the most typical 221B way – or, how New Scotland Yard found out Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were sleeping together.  Finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unwelcome Wake-up Call

The light was barely beginning to pour through the curtains of the bedroom window when John was woken from a deep slumber. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and surveyed the room, annoyed to be awake when he’d been sleeping so comfortably.

  
There was a heavy, warm weight draped across his chest and a soft tickle against his chin as he blinked further awake, smiling as he took note of his bedmate. Sherlock had, thankfully, come to bed at some point in the night, and as usual had managed to take up the entirety of John’s side of the bed – his head tucked into his bedmate’s good shoulder, his left hand thrown over John’s head to rest comfortably in his own right, and their legs tangled together underneath the duvet. It occurred to John that it should probably be disconcerting that he was able to sleep through so much jostling in the middle of the night, but in the month since he’d relocated to the downstairs bedroom he found it hard to make a bother of it when the result was waking up to such a drowsy, warm cuddle in the early morning.

  
Glancing towards the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed, he saw the red numerals of the digital clock lightly illuminating the time: _07:13_. With another sigh, he settled himself deeper into his pillow, careful not to jostle Sherlock in the process, and closed his eyes to drift back to sleep. He had barely been in bed for four hours after wrapping up a massive jewel smuggling outfit in Covent Garden, and Sherlock had been so entrenched in his microscope when John had retired to the bedroom that he was certain it was considerably less for his lover. Vaguely remembering that it was a Sunday morning and neither had any responsibilities for the remainder of the day, he let the pleasant thought of a proper lie-in flit through his imagination, a gentle smile crossing his face at the thought.

  
He had nearly dozed back off when a violent buzzing next to his head woke him with a start, panicking for a couple of moments before realizing that it was his mobile on the nightstand beside him. Sherlock somehow managed to snuffle tighter against his collarbone, grumbling loudly and pinning John’s biceps to the mattress as he extricated his hand to reach for the phone.

  
A cursory glance at the screen showed multiple missed texts, and the name _Greg Lestrade_ listed as the caller. He accepted the call with a small frown, hoping that Sherlock’s louder grumble of “tell’empissoff” wasn’t caught by the receiver.

  
“Hel-“ John began, clearing his throat at the sleep-scratched croak, “’lo? Everything alright?”

  
“John! About bloody time,” the DI responded, sounding knackered himself but far too awake for such an hour, “I was getting ready to send a squad to Baker Street – ‘ve been trying Sherlock’s phone for almost an hour. Is he in?”

  
John sniffed in confusion, wondering why he hadn’t heard the other man’s phone, before blinking slightly more awake. “Yeah, he’s here, sorry about that.”

  
Without further thought, he pressed the phone to Sherlock’s face ignoring his indignant sputter and letting his eyes close as he reclined back into his pillow. Maybe he should have given the other man more time to rouse himself before forcing conversation on him – or at least warning that Greg needed to talk to him – but really, it was the wanker’s own fault for not having his own phone on him, so he could deal with whatever needed dealt with.

  
It only vaguely crossed his mind that in that instant, he’d given away that they were sharing a bed.

  
“For God’s sake; you can’t leave us in peace for six bloody hours, after I practically gift-wrapped the entire Murphy case for you?” He heard Sherlock grumble sleepily, his deep, sleep-rough voice reverberating in John’s chest so that he couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. He could barely hear Greg’s exasperated voice and couldn’t be bothered to work out what the DI was actually saying before Sherlock responded, tartly “Hmm… actually I had planned on a lie-in and late morning shag, if it’s all the same to you,”

John felt his ears heat violently. So much for practicing discretion with the Yarders, then.

  
“What do you mean they’ve called in new witnesses? There were clearly only three sets of footprints in the warehouse.” Sherlock snapped, instantaneously awake and rolling off of John’s chest to seat himself against the headboard in a motion that was far too graceful for such a heinous hour. As he listened to the phone, John could see his eyes narrow, the furrows of a frown forming on his brow as his eyes sharpened.

  
And so much for that lie-in as well.

  
“That’s absolute rubbish, the evidence clearly showed… no, of course I’ll be in. Make sure to hold them, I want a chance at questioning. Give us 40 minutes to get ready.” He hung up the phone and dropped it on to the bed with a thunderous frown. “Apparently after speaking with his lawyer, Fitzhugh was miraculously able to remember that the lot of them had actually been out in Clerkenwell at the time of the last drop-off, and have two cousins who can corroborate the alibi,” Sherlock announced angrily, swinging his feet out of the bed and stomping to the chest of drawers to angrily pull out a pair of clean pants, before stalking back across the room. “We need to get in with them to prove it false, maybe search Fitzhugh’s flat as well… if I can find his shoes and match a set of prints from the scene…” he glanced over his shoulder with his hand on the doorknob of the bathroom, his face softening as he took in John’s face, “that is, if you’re joining. If you’d rather stay in…”

  
John couldn’t help but smile at the uncertainty on Sherlock’s face, knowing that he must look as exhausted as he felt to be caught so easily. “Of course I’m joining, you berk,” he responded, throwing the covers off of himself and swinging his legs onto the carpet – he wasn’t nearly as anxious to get to the Yard as the other man was, but he also wasn’t going to let him dash off while lazing about himself. “Hurry up and shower, I’ll throw coffee on – God knows we’re both going to need it – just let me know as soon as you’re out so that I can wash up myself, I’ve no idea how we’re actually going to both sort ourselves and still make it to Westminster in that short of time.”

  
The next half hour was a blur of activity for John’s sleep deprived brain – somehow coffee was percolated and clean clothes were laid out before the bathroom door was thrown open unceremoniously and he was allowed barely enough room to side-step his way into the shower as Sherlock hastily attempted to – whatever it was that he did with his umpteen bottles of product and mass of wet curls – while squinting into the steamed-obscured mirror. John washed with military efficiency (an old habit he’d had to call on more often that he liked to think on in his time living at 221B), which made Sherlock’s absence from the vanity a considerable surprise when he opened the shower curtain. Even more surprising was the fact that he had time to pull a comb through his own hair, dress hastily in the bedroom, and even locate both shoes under the bed before facing the brunt of his flatmate’s impatience.

  
“Come _on_ , John!” Sherlock boomed from the sitting room, and as he made his way down through the kitchen, simultaneously trying to pull his still-tied shoes onto his feet. Sherlock’s coat was already on, and he stood in the doorway twisting his scarf around his neck in a flash of movement before pounding down the stairs as John grabbed his own jacket off its peg.

  
“I’m – Oi, hold on! You’re forgetting something.” He huffed, jamming an arm through the sleeve of his jacket as he hurried out the door himself. Sherlock had turned with a questioning frown, standing impatiently on the landing below him. John took the stairs between them two at a time, stopping on the stair before the landing so that he was actually a hair taller than the detective before grabbing his coat collar and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss.

  
“Good morning,” He said with a short laugh, before squeezing his way around the other man and bounding the way down the rest of the steps. Although his back was already turned, he could sense the wondered smile in Sherlock’s murmured “Good morning, John,” and couldn’t stop the grin that split his face as he threw the front door open, stepping off of the stoop and throwing an arm in the air to hail a cab.


End file.
